The  Voice  of  April-Land 
And  Other  Poems 


The  Voice  of  April-Land 

And  Other  Poems 


BY 

ELLA   HIGGINSON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  FROM  THE  LAND  OF  THE  SNOW  PEARLS,"    "  WHEN 
THE  BIRDS   GO  NORTH  AGAIN,"   "  MARIELLA  OF  OUT- 
WEST,"  "  A  FOREST  ORCHID,"  ETC. 


||0t!t 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  LTD. 
1903 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  November,  1903. 


J.  S.  Ciuhing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


STfje  pioneers  of  tfje  West 

®2SouI&  <£o&  tfjat  foe,  tfjeir  cfyilOren,  foere  as  tfjeg ! 
@reat*sauleo,  fcrabe^earteo,  anH  of  Dauntless  foill ; 
to  tiare,  rtsponsibe  to  tfye  still, 

botce  tljat  calleo  tfjem  ntflfjt  ana  oag 
jFrom  tfjis  far  S2Sest  iuijere  sleeping  (greatness  lag 

fjer  time,    SSEoulU  ©oti  toe  feneiu  tlje  thrill 
erquisitelg  tormented  tfyem,  until 
C^eg  stooo  up  strong  anU  resolute  to  obeg, 

<§o5,  mafee  us  lifte  tfjem,  foortfjg  of  tijem ;  sfjafte 
©ur  souls  toitlj  great  oesires ;  our  cull  eges  set 

©n  some  fjiglj  star  iufjose  splenoio  ligfjt  bjill  toa^e 
Ms  from  our  Dreams,  ano  gutfie  us  from  tfjis  fen 

©f  selfisfy  ease  bon  ftg  our  fathers'  siueat, 
©ij,  lift  us  up  —  tfje  SHest  fjas  neeo 


M652987 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To  the  Pioneers  of  the  West v  • 

The  Voice  of  April-land *  I  ^ 

House-of-the-Stars 3 

The  Chinook  Wind 5 

The  Mother  Prays •  7 

The  Little  Girl  of  Violet-land 9 

Then  and  Now IO>* 

"Fare-thee-well" I2 

Love's  Trembling-cup .     .     .,  •  13* 

The  Message ;     * 

The  Rose •        * ;;    ^  17 

The  Wayfarer »  l8 

March .,/..,;,   ^  25 

Surrender  in  Victory *  2 

The  Star v  «*  29 

In  Wake-Robin  Land .  3°  - 

The  Path  of  Gold ,  *  .  x  *  31 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"  Then  you'll  remember  me  "          ......  32 

The  Rose  of  Day 33 

A  Parable 34 

ToM.B 35 

My  Thoughts  are  Birds 36 

Triolet 37 

•Love  learns  slowly 38 

The  Guests  of  the  Heart 39 

"  To  her  the  Blessed  Sleep  " 40 

April 42 

Midwinter  Dream 44 

The  Blue  Sea  calls 46 

After  Summer  Days 48 

Laurels 50 

Love-song  of  the  Wanderer 52 

Annie  Lisle 54 

The  Nights  of  June 56 

At  Midnight  Mass 58 

The  Sweet,  Low  Speech  of  the  Rain 60 

The  House  that  once  was  blessed  of  Thee       ....  62 

His  Star 63 

"  I  am  so  sorry  " • «  \    •",         .  65 

The  Trembling  Heart                                       \       -i-  .    *   r-.i'  66 

viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Dawn *    »     ..»>      .  68 

The  Mirror 69 

Mother's  Picture 70 

The  Cry  of  the  Drowned 72 

The  Darkest  Hour 74 

September 75 

The  Little  Child  that  went  away     .        .        .        .        ,  ?.    .  76 

Remembrance 78 

The  Bad  Dandelions 79 

An  Easter  Love-song 81 

In  the  Marsh -,»,,•  ,.^     .  83 

October 84 

Midnight  on  Brooklyn  Bridge 85 

November 86 

The  Little  Wave-maidens 87 

Burial 89 

A  Mood 90 

The  Vision 91 

Forget-me-nots 92 

The  Call  in  the  Dark 93 

The  Opal-sea 94 

Thanksgiving          .........  95 

Riches 96 

ix 


CONTENTS 


Up,  my  Heart,  and  sing 97 

A  Threnody 9» 

The  Fog  Horns 99 

Love,  the  Firefly IO° 

"The  Pale  Green  Alder-way" IO1 

Betrothal IO3 

The  Childless  Mother's  Lullaby IO4 

Bloom-time x°7 

June  Rain Io8 

The  Sailor's  Sweetheart IIQ 

The  Still  Willamette  River II2 

The  Watchword  of  the  Stars I!5 

Adoration Il6 

The  Lady  of  Poppies 1 19 

Undaunted I21 


The  Voice  of  April-Land 
And  Other  Poems 


THE   VOICE    OF  APRIL-LAND 

A  voice  came  up  thro9  the  April-land 

And  spake  a  word  of  the  sea ; 
Straight  leaped  the  sap  in  the  alder's  veins, 

Star-flowers  blew  in  the  lea-, 
The  lark's  throat  ached  with  his  passion-song 

My  heart  with  the  love  of  thee. 

A  voice  came  up  thro'  the  April-land 

And  spake  a  word  of  the  sea ; 
The  humming-bird  yearned  for  the  eglantine^ 

For  the  clover  yearned  the  bee ; 
The  wind  for  the  wet  lips  of  the  rain  — 

My  heart  for  the  heart  of  thee. 


HOUSE-OF-THE-STARS 

HEN  I  come  up  the  hill  at  night 

And  see  my  home  far,  high,  aloof, 
All  Heaven's  stars  seem  glittering 
Upon  its  storm-worn  roof. 


They  outline  all  the  gables  steep 
Above  the  square,  unlighted  panes, 

And  all  along  the  eaves  they  hang 
In  bright  and  sparkling  chains. 

Dear  house,  thine  ugliness  by  day 
Is  turned  to  beauty  overnight, 

And  all  thy  dark,  unlovely  lines 
Flash  into  lines  of  light. 
3 


HOUSE-OF-THE-STARS 

Yea,  all  about  thee,  silently, 

When  dusk  lets  down  her  purple  bars, 
The  very  winds  that  sweep  the  hill 

Shake  loose  the  silver  stars. 

Far  do  I  wander  from  thy  peace, 

Far  from  thy  simple,  sweet  content; 

Often  in  idleness  and  wrong 
My  empty  days  are  spent. 

Yet  nightly  up  the  lonely  hill, 
Above  the  town,  above  the  sea, 

I  climb  with  lifted  eyes  to  find 
The  stars  that  shine  for  me. 

So,  though  I  wander  late  and  far, 

When  Death  lets  down  the  purple  bars, 

Dear  God,  wilt  thou  not  let  me  in 
Thine  own  House-of-the-Stars  ? 


THE    CHINOOK   WIND 

[OME,  soft  Chinook,  and   lift  thy  glowing 

face 

Above  the  line  of  yonder  fir-crowned  hill; 
Free  ice-bound  meadows,  loose  the  frozen 

rill, 
With  thy  warm  breath  and  magic  touch  of  grace. 

Oh,  dear  Chinook,  send  one  long,  laughing  glance 
Across  this  glittering  stretch  of  sudden  snow ; 
Set  grasses  greening  and  the  rose  ablow, 

Stir  purple  violets  from  their  fragrant  trance. 

Set  April's  skies  in  mid-December's  world, 
Shake  April's  laughter,  every  pulse  to  thrill, 
Wake  silver  bird-notes  on  yon  silent  hill, 

Let  this  dull  sea  with  sun-flakes  be  impearled. 
5 


6  THE  CHINOOK   WIND 

Come  like  a  maiden,  innocent  and  fair, 
Who  lightly  with  her  delicate  finger-tips 
Flings  tender  kisses  from  her  parted  lips  — 

Kisses  that  bloom  to  roses  everywhere. 

Come,  soft  Chinook  —  for  gentle  pity's  sake  ; 
Set  young  hearts  beating,  young  hearts  all  aglow, 
Kiss  from  old  veins  the  frost  and  ice  and  snow,  - 

And  like  a  silver  bugle  cry  —  "  Awake  !  " 


THE   MOTHER   PRAYS 

H,  Mary,  Mary,  Mother  Mary, 
The  night  is  dark  and  long, 

The  rain  beats  drearily  on  the  roof, 
The  wind  is  wild  and  strong ; 

To-night  I  pray  only  to  thee  — 
Tell  me,  if  this  be  wrong. 


Oh,  tender,  pitying  Virgin  Mary, 

Thou  hast  the  mother-heart ; 
Thou  knowest  how  tears  wrought  of  blood 

Up  from  my  torn  breast  start 
At  the  mere  thought  that  Death  should  seek 

To  bear  this  child  apart. 

Oh,  Mary,  Mary,  Mother  Mary, 
The  hours  are  long  and  slow  ; 
7 


THE   MOTHER   PRAYS 

Help  me  to  bear  them  as  I  kneel 
Where  she  lies  still  and  low, 

The  only  little  child  I  have  — 
I  cannot  let  her  go  ! 

Oh,  gentle,  patient  Virgin  Mary, 

To  thy  kind  heart  I  plead 
For  her,  so  little  and  so  sweet ! 

Thou  know'st  the  mother-need  — 
Tell  God ;  and  for  this  one  dear  life 

(For  Christ's  sake)  intercede  ! 

Mother,  —  the  prayer  dies  on  my  lips 

Shaken  with  agony; 
Thou  of  the  tortured  mother-heart, — 

I  leave  it  all  with  thee  ! 
Plead  thou  with  God  this  awful  night 

To  spare  this  child  to  me. 


THE    LITTLE    GIRL    OF   VIOLET-LAND 

H,  tell  me  where  is  the  little  girl 

With  the  wind-blown  hair  and  the  fragile 

hand, 

Who  once  in  the  beautiful  days  ago 
Dwelt  with  God  in  Violet-Land  ? 

She  talked  with  Him  in  her  childish  speech, 
She  walked  with  Him,  and  He  held  her  hand; 

One  might  have  known  by  her  lifted  eyes 
That  she  dwelt  with  God  in  Violet-Land. 

But  oh,  for  the  word  of  the  baby  lips, 
And  oh,  for  the  touch  of  the  baby  hand  ! 

And  oh,  for  the  throb  of  the  raptured  heart 
Of  the  little  girl  in  Violet-Land ! 

I  stand  and  look  thro'  the  distance  far, 
My  eyes  grow  dim  beneath  my  hand, 

For  I  seek  and  call,  but  I  never  find, 
The  little  girl  of  Violet-Land. 
9 


THEN  AND  NOW 

THOUGHT  I  did  not  care  — till    you 

were  gone, 
And  I  heard  the  wind  grieving  thro'  the 

leaves, 
To  the  plaintive  rhythm  of  the  midnight  rain 

As  it  dripped,  dripped,  dripped,  from  the  time-worn 
eaves. 

The  while  I  danced  with  tireless  feet,  and  light, 
You  held  no  place  within  my  care-free  mind ; 

Nor  when,  upon  my  dappled  mare,  I  raced, 
Undaunted  and  triumphant,  with  the  wind. 

For  then  my  very  soul  was  full  of  life 

That   pulsed  and  throbbed    and    raced    my  being 

through, 
And  I  was  all-sufficient  to  myself — 

Ah,  then,  I  gave  no  lightest  thought  to  you ! 

10 


THEN   AND   NOW  n 

But  when  I  crossed  a  field  one  winter's  day 
And  heard  a  slender  brook  go  singing  by ; 

When  a  pale  crocus  opened  by  the  way, 

A  swift  sweet  memory  moved  my  heart  to  sigh. 

And  when  I  hear  the  restless,  wind-vex'd  leaves 
Grieve  to  the  rhythm  of  the  midnight  rain, 

Thro*  all  my  being  thrills  the  vain  desire 

To  feel  your  warm,  heart-shaken  touch  again. 


«  FARE-THEE-WELL  " 

HE  never  said  "  good-by,"  but  u  fare-thee- 

well" — 

"  It  is  a  sweeter  word,"  she  said ; 
We  thought  of  it  with  tears  that  bitter  day 
She  lay  before  us  dead. 

The  eyelids  fell  and  shut  the  love-light  in, 
So  constant  thro'  all  gladness  and  all  tears, 

And  though  we  spake  so  low,  it  seemed  as  if 
She  smiled,  as  one  that  hears. 

The  lashes  drew  a  curving  shadow  on 
The  frozen  languor  of  her  cheek ; 

And  still  we  listened,  for  it  seemed  as  if 
The  tender  lips  must  speak. 

Yea,  though  she  wore  upon  her  quiet  brow 

The  pale  bloom  of  the  asphodel, 
It  seemed  as  if  her  sweet,  sweet  lips  must  part 

And  murmur  "  fare-thee-well." 


LOVE'S  TREMBLING-CUP 

NTO  a  woman  Love  one  day 

Came  jauntily  and  said  : 
u  Thou  art  of  haughty  mien,  but  I 
Can  lower  thy  proud  head." 


But  smiled  the  woman  scornfully : 
"  I  challenge  ;  do  thy  worst ! 

I'll  drink  thy  bitterest  dreg,  and  cry 
*  I  drank  thy  nectar  first ! '  " 

Then  to  her  lips  Love  held  a  cup, 
And  joy  more  keen  than  pain 

Leaped  up  her  pulses  to  her  heart ; 
She  drank  —  and  drank  again. 

"  Drink  deep,"  Love  said,  half-pityingly ; 

"  Poor  foolish  one,  drink  deep ; 
Then  to  thy  couch  —  a  night  comes  on 

When  thou  wilt  pray  for  sleep." 
'3 


LOVE'S   TREMBLING-CUP 

For  one  year  and  a  day  she  knew 
The  rapture  of  the  blest  — 

Such  ecstasy  as  Mary  thrilled 

When  Christ  slept  on  her  breast. 

Then  came  Love  to  her  jauntily, 
And  looked  into  her  eyes ; 

"  I  have  another  cup  for  thee ; 
The  hour  has  come  —  arise  !  " 

But  smiled  the  woman  scornfully : 

"  It  is  the  cup  of  pain  ; 
I  drank  thy  nectar  first  —  and  now  " 

She  proudly  drank  again. 

"  I  like  thy  spirit  well,"  Love  said ; 

"  Come,  keep  thy  courage  up." 
He  held  before  her  dauntless  eyes 

Still  yet  another  cup, 

And  lightly  dropped  the  broken  pearl 
Of  broken  faith  ;  it  sank 


LOVE'S   TREMBLING-CUP  15 

And  melted  in  the  amber  dregs ; 
With  pallid  lips  she  drank. 

The  look  of  death  grew  in  her  eyes, 

She  did  not  shrink  or  speak, 
But  up  the  gray  of  ashes  came 

And  covered  brow  and  cheek. 

"  Now  drink,"  quoth  Love, u  my  bitterest  cup, 

The  cup  of  jealousy; 
But  first  look  in  its  ruby  depths, 

And  speak.     What  dost  thou  see  ?  " 

She  saw  another  woman's  breast 

Pillow  his  head ;  and  there 
Those  sweeter,  younger,  lingering  lips 

Pressed  kisses  on  his  hair. 

The  cup  shook  on  her  teeth ;  she  drank, 
And  bowed  her  head,  and  cried : 

"  Love,  ere  I  drank  thy  nectar  first, 
Would  God  that  I  had  died  !  " 


THE   MESSAGE 

HY  did  I  waken  suddenly  ? 

Did  a  star  fall  ?     Or,  hark  !  .  . 
Did  a  bird  call  ?     Or  did  Hope 

Set  a  lamp  in  the  dark 
To  flame  full  into  my  eyes 
And  signal,  —  "  Awake  !  Arise  !  " 


16 


THE  ROSE 

HE  put  her  arms  around  Death's  neck, 

And  leaned  upon  his  breast ; 
For  life  had  not  been  kind  to  her, 
And  it  was  sweet  to  rest. 

"  Poor  Heart,"  Death  murmured,  bearing  her 

Upon  her  lonely  quest ; 
"  Whence  came  this  red,  red  rose,  whose  thorn 

Has  pierced  thy  bleeding  breast  ?  " 

As  up  the  amethystine  deeps 

They  mounted  to  the  sun, 
She  smiled  into  the  eyes  of  Death : 

"  It  is  my  love  for  one. 

"  Has  it  a  thorn  ?     And  do  I  bleed  ? 

I  do  not  know  or  care  " 
(She  smiled  again) ;  "  I  only  know 

That  red,  red  rose  is  there." 
c  17 


THE  WAYFARER 

MET  her  in  a  dim  sweet  wood, 
She  reached  her  lilied  arms  to  me ; 

Her  eyes  were  like  the  stars  that  shine 
In  a  full  midnight  sea. 


Her  unbound  hair  held  flecks  of  gold, 
Like  sunlight  trembling  thro*  the  leaves  5 

Her  voice  was  like  the  wind  that  steals 
Among  the  ripened  sheaves. 

Her  breast  was  whiter  than  the  snow 
New-fallen  on  some  mountain  height 

Where  only  snows  on  white  snows  fall, 
Silently  day  and  night. 

Her  garment  was  of  pearly  stuff 

That  fell  about  her  thin  and  straight, 
18 


THE   WAYFARER  19 

So  thin  her  lovely  limbs  shone  through, 
Soft,  round,  and  delicate. 

Her  waist  was  circled,  girdle-wise, 

With  creamy  lilies,  yellow-tipped ; 
Her  breath  was  as  sweet  as  wall-flowers, 

And  she  was  delicious-lipped. 

u  I  am  that  fair  Desire,"  said  she, 

u  Whom,  soon  or  late,  each  man  must  meet " 
(She  reached  her  lilied  arms  to  me); 

"  Kiss  me,  my  lips  are  sweet." 

I  kissed  her  not ;  I  spoke  no  word ; 

The  night  was  soft,  the  hour  was  late ; 
A  maid  so  chaste  and  perfect  must 

Be  kept  inviolate. 

u  Kiss  me,  my  lips  are  very  sweet."  .  .   . 

I  trembled,  but  I  spoke  no  word. 
"  My  arms  are  warm."  ...     I  turned  away, 

As  if  I  had  not  heard. 


20  THE   WAYFARER 

"  My  breath  is  sweeter  than  clove-pinks ; 

And  if  a  kiss  be  long,"  she  said  — 
I  waited  then  to  hear  no  more, 

But  thro'  the  forest  fled. 

She  followed ;  and  I  felt  her  breath 
Upon  my  neck,  upon  my  cheek ; 

And  heard  her  voice  entreating  me, 
But  would  not  turn  nor  speak. 

But  when  her  steps  fell  faint  and  far 
Behind,  so  I  could  scarcely  hear, 

And  her  insistent  pleading  fell 
No  longer  on  my  ear ; 

Ah,  then,  with  passionate  longing  torn, 
I  trembling  paused,  and  listening  stood, 

To  hear  if  she  still  followed  me 
Thro*  that  lone  purple  wood. 

It  seemed  I  heard  the  twinflower  bells 
Announce  the  coming  of  her  feet ; 


THE   WAYFARER  21 

The  very  perfume  of  the  musk 
Thro*  my  full  pulses  beat. 

The  dogwood  lit  her  silver  stars 

To  light  her  as  she  came ; 
The  broad  reeds  whispered ;  the  brook  tried 

To  falter  out  her  name. 

Something  went  thro'  me  wild  and  sweet  — 

All  music,  perfume,  color,  fire  — 
Sought,  found,  and  thrilled  and  filled  my  heart 

Full,  full  with  white  Desire. 

(God  witness  !)     Still  I  tried  to  turn, 

To  flee  ere  it  might  be  too  late ; 
Still  said,  —  "A  maid  so  perfect  must 

Be  kept  inviolate." 

But  once  again  I  felt  her  breath 

Upon  my  brow,  upon  my  cheek ; 
Her  sweetness  shook  me  to  the  soul, 

I  could  not  move  nor  speak. 


22  THE   WAYFARER 

I  felt  her  arms  about  my  neck, 

Her  tender  warmth  within  my  breast ; 

And  then  her  fragrant,  trembling  mouth 
Upon  my  own  was  pressed. 

(God  hear  me  !)     Then  I  knew  no  more ; 

My  very  soul  went  from  me  —  went 
To  lose  itself  in  the  soul  of  her 

In  swift,  sweet  ravishment. 

******* 

The  years  are  long ;  and  many  maids 

Have  crossed  my  life,  have  touched  my  heart; 

But  in  my  mem'ry,  pure  and  white, 
That  one  maid  dwells  apart. 

Like  some  clear  light  that  God  has  lit, 
She  shines  across  my  darkest  night ; 

Let  come  the  thought  of  her,  and  lo  ! 
My  heart  thrills  with  delight. 

But  I  shall  never  see  her  more, 

Tho'  I  have  sought  her  far  and  wide ; 


THE   WAYFARER  23 

She  is  gone  utterly,  as  if 
At  my  embrace  she  died. 

Can  she  be  dead  ?     That  lily-maid  ? 

In  dreams  again  I  hear  her  call, 
And  feel  the  perfume  of  her  breath 

In  petals  round  me  fall. 

And  waking  eagerly  I  lean 

To  press  my  cheek  deep  in  her  hair, 
Or  find  the  sweetness  of  her  mouth  — 

But  lo,  she  is  not  there  ! 

She  is  not  there  nor  anywhere; 

I  know  that  she  will  come  no  more ; 
And  yet  I  haunt  the  dim,  sweet  wood 

That  lies  along  the  shore, 

And  listen  if  I  may  not  hear, 

As  once  I  heard,  her  far,  sweet  call, 

Or  on  the  beaten,  yellow  leaves 
Her  coming  footsteps  fall. 


24  THE   WAYFARER 

Come  other  maids  that  bear  her  name, 
But  touched  not  with  her  sacred  fire ; 

She  was  the  holiest  of  them  all  — 
My  own  soul's  fair  Desire  ! 

Too  fair  for  my  rough  touch,  alas  ! 

I  should  have  worshipped  her  afar ; 
Kissed  her  gown's  hem ;  and  bid  her  guide 

My  footsteps,  like  a  star. 

So  fair  was  she  that  when  the  dusk 

Shakes  loose  the  scent  of  musk  and  fir, 

Dearer  than  any  living  maid 
Is  the  memory  of  her. 


MARCH 

EY,  alder,  hang  thy  tassels  out 

This  blue  and  golden  morn ; 
And  willow,  show  thy  silver  plush, 
Wild  grape,  thy  scarlet  thorn ! 


And  velvet  moss  about  the  trees, 

Lift  every  russet  cup ; 
The  dew  is  coming  down  this  way, 

With  pearls  to  fill  them  up. 

And  birds,  why  tarry  so  a-South  ? 

Spent  is  the  bitter  rain  ! 
With  messages  of  love  and  cheer 

Come  North,  come  North  again. 


SURRENDER  IN  VICTORY 

ORD,  we  have  made  an  honest  fight 

And  won  the  victory  ; 
We  fought  as  men  who  love  the  right, 

Fiercely  and  fearlessly ; 
And  now  we  turn  aside  and  give 
Our  trembling  thanks  to  Thee. 

Lord,  it  is  not  for  us  to  drink 

The  salt  cup  of  defeat, 
And  victory  is  glorious, 

And  victory  is  sweet ; 
Yet  still  we  bow  our  heads  and  lay 

Our  laurels  at  Thy  feet. 

It  is  not  for  Americans 

To  boast  that  they  have  slain 

The  heroes  who  have  fought  and  bled 
For  their  beloved  Spain  ; 
26 


SURRENDER  IN   VICTORY  27 

Nay,  —  help  us  to  remember,  Lord, 
That  they  have  died  in  vain. 

Not  sweet  can  it  be,  Lord,  to  Thee, 

But  grievous  in  Thy  sight, 
For  nations  to  rise  up  in  wrath 

And  man  with  man  to  fight, — 
Each  thinking  his  the  only  truth, 

And  his  the  only  right. 

But,  Lord,  the  need  was,  and  we  fought 

Fiercely  and  fearlessly  ; 
And  still  less  sweet  would  it  be  now  — 

More  grievous  —  unto  Thee 
For  us  to  blow  the  trumpet  loud 

In  boastful  jubilee. 

So  check  the  tumult  of  our  joy, 

And  hush  the  rising  cheers ; 
We  have  the  splendid  victory, 

And  they  the  blistering  tears ; 
For  us  the  laurel  wreaths ;  for  them 

Defeat  that  burns  and  sears. 


28  SURRENDER   IN   VICTORY 

It  is  the  time  for  thought ;  the  time 
For  noble  silence,  Lord  ; 

To-day  the  mourning-dove  of  peace 
Thro'  all  our  land  is  heard; 

To  Thee  alone  Americans 
Kiss  and  give  up  the  sword. 


THE   STAR 

LOOK  across  the  waste  of  night ; 

My  eyes  swim  deep  in  tears ;   for  there, 
Plain  to  my  sight,  tho'  bleak  and  low, 

Lies  the  deep  valley  of  Despair. 


Must  I,  too,  walk  those  bitter  miles 

To  that  dark  mire  rimmed  round  with  stones  f 
Must  I  leave  bloodprints  on  the  way, 

And  lay  my  bones  with  those  bleaching  bones  ? 

I  turn  and  lift  my  praying  eyes 

To  the  far,  sweet  deeps  of  heliotrope, 

And  lo  !  a  star  is  coming  up  — 

The  beautiful  God-sent  star  of  Hope. 


IN  WAKE-ROBIN   LAND 

HIS  is  the  path  to  Wake-Robin  Land, 

Oh,  come,  my  Dearest,  and  we  will  go, 

Like  two  little  children,  hand  in  hand  — 

This  is  the  path  to  Wake-Robin  Land ! 

The  waves  break  silver  along  the  sand, 
The  air  is  sweet  and  the  tide  is  low  — 

This  is  the  path  to  Wake-Robin  Land, 
Oh,  come,  my  Dearest,  and  we  will  go  ! 

Love,  let  us  tarry  in  Wake-Robin  Land, 

Alone  with  the  bird-songs  and  blossoms  and  God ; 

'Tis  even  sweeter  than  we  had  planned  — 

Love,  let  us  tarry  in  Wake-Robin  Land  ! 

Like  two  little  children,  hand  in  hand, 

The  sky  our  tent,  and  our  pillow  the  sod  — 

Love,  let  us  tarry  in  Wake-Robin  Land, 

Alone  with  the  bird-songs  and  blossoms  and  God. 
30 


THE   PATH   OF   GOLD 

HE  path  of  gold  on  the  deep  blue  water 

Trembled  across  to  our  very  feet, 
And  oh,  but  the  wood  was  pink  with  roses, 
And  oh,  but  the  birds  sang  loud,  sang 
sweet ! 


The  path  of  gold  on  the  deep  blue  water 
Dimpled  and  sparkled  that  August  night ; 

We  said,  —  "  It  begins  in  love  and  roses, 
Ends  only  in  heaven's  delight." 


"THEN   YOU'LL  REMEMBER   ME" 


OU  sang  .  .  .  The  sad  years  fled  like  mist, 

The  hills  were  green  again, 
The  lilies  opened  snow-white  cups 
In  every  wood  and  glen. 


You  sang  .   .  .  The  dark  to  sunlight  turned, 

The  skies  were  blue  above, 
And  every  lark  across  the  fields 

Took  up  the  tune  of  love. 

You  sang  .  .  .   Our  hearts  were  young  again, 
Your  notes  dropped  sweet  and  slow, 

And  each  remembered  one  whose  name 
Must  now  be  spoken  low. 


THE   ROSE   OF  DAY 

HE  day  is  opening  like  a  rose, 

Petal  on  petal  backward  curled, 
Till  all  its  beauty  burns  and  glows, 
And  all  its  fragrance  is  unfurled. 


The  day  is  dying  like  a  rose, 

Soft  leaf  on  leaf  dropped  down  the  sky 
To  gulfs  of  beauty  where  repose 

The  souls  of  exquisite  things  that  die. 


33 


A   PARABLE 

HE  Night  goes  down  as  a  new  Day  comes 

up, 
The   face  of   each  lies  at  the  mountain 

rim, 

The  whole  wide  beryl  world  apart  j  the  one 
Is  flushed  and  proud  —  the  other  wan  and  dim. 

So  Old  Age  sinks  to  Life's  low  horizon, 
While  in  the  east  with  eager,  beating  heart, 

Fair  Youth  comes  boldly  up.  .  .  .     They  look  across, 
Each  at  the  other  —  a  whole  life  apart  ! 


34 


TO   M.   B. 

jT  may  be  but  a  tender  little  rhyme 
About  a  cowslip  or  a  violet 
That  nestles  by  a  brook,  blue-eyed  and 

wet ; 

A  crimson  rose  in  some  far  southern  clime ; 
A  laugh,  a  song,  a  merry  Christmas  chime 

Thrilled  thro7  and  thro'  with  tears  ;  a  pearl  regret 
Within  a  chain  of  hope's  bright  rubies  set, 
Or  it  may  be  a  passion  grand,  sublime. 

But,  oh,  whate'er  it  be,  sweet  singer,  sing ! 
As  a  glad  lark  across  the  reeded  mere 
Sings  for  a  lonelier  one  with  broken  wing, 

And  lets  his  music  swell  with  hope  and  cheer, 
Sing  thou  !  For  in  thy  song  one  ever  hears 
Faith  and  a  tremulous  laughter  thro*  thy  tears. 


35 


MY  THOUGHTS  ARE   BIRDS 

Y  thoughts   are   birds   that    haste   away  to 

thee, 
Winging  the  miles  that   hold   us  now 

apart, 

And  then  at  night,  worn  out  with  ecstasy, 
Drift  homeward  to  be  hovered  in  my  heart. 


TRIOLET 

EAREST,  thy  heart  beats  on  my  heart, 
Oh,  speak  and  say  it  is  not  a  dream  ! 
ThoJ  we  are  these  sea-blue  miles  apart, 
Dearest,  thy  heart  beats  on  my  heart, 
And  all  its  wandering  pulses  start 

To  a  thrill  of  hope  and  a  bliss  supreme. 
Dearest,  thy  heart  beats  on  my  heart, 
Oh,  speak  and  say  it  is  not  a  dream ! 


37 


LOVE  LEARNS  SLOWLY 

OR  just  a  few  brief  hours 

Her  he  forgot ; 
The  waves  of  pain  swam  round  her  heart, 

The  tears  sprang  quick  and  hot ; 
And  he,  amazed,  beheld  them  fall, 
Love  learns  so  slowly,  after  all ! 

Then  —  ah,  the  pity  !  —  straight 

She  spake  the  bitter  word, 
That  hurt  as  she  had  little  dreamed, 

When  silently  he  heard ; 
Fate  holds  us  ever  in  its  thrall, 
And  love  learns  slowly,  after  all. 


THE   GUESTS   OF   THE   HEART 


AID  Faith,  "  I've  made  you  a  visit, 

But  now  I  must  go." 
She  went  with  reluctant  glances 
And  footsteps  slow. 

She  met  at  the  very  threshold 
Pale  entering  Doubt ; 
Are  you  coming  in,"  she  said, 
"  As  I  go  out  ?  " 


J.  i.*.  \s     J  v 

go  out  ? 

"  We  cannot  visit  together," 

Doubt  made  reply ; 
"  The  heart  that  bids  me  enter, 

Bids  you  good-by." 


39 


"TO   HER  THE   BLESSED   SLEEP" 


HE  crocus  cups  had  opened 
Their  beauty  to  the  sun, 
The  hazels  were  outhanging 
Their  tassels,  one  by  one; 
The  violets  were  blowing, 

The  cold,  dark  days  were  done. 

The  meadow-larks  were  singing 

That  February  day, 
Their  notes  as  clear  and  joyous 

As  though  the  month  were  May, 
When  we  went,  broken-hearted, 

To  bear  the  child  away. 

So  we  shall  always  see  her 
Among  the  blooms  at  rest, 
40 


"TO   HER   THE   BLESSED   SLEEP "          41 

The  peace  upon  her  forehead, 

The  violets  on  her  breast ; 
And  hear  about  her  singing 

The  love-larks  of  the  West. 

Yea,  tho'  our  hopes  lie  buried 
With  her  low,  low  and  deep, 

This  thought  shall  be  our  comfort 
The  while  we  sit  and  weep : 

God  gave  to  us  the  sorrow, 
To  her  the  blessed  sleep. 


APRIL 

EY,  pretty  maid  !     Whence  comest  thou 
With  violets  linked  about  thy  brow, 
And  zone  of  buttercups'  own  gold  ? 
The  currant  blossoms  round  thee  fold 
Their  delicate  beauty,  red  and  sweet, 
And  star-flowers  faint  beneath  thy  feet. 

Thou  dear  coquette !     A  tear,  a  frown, 
Dark  lashes  drooping  shyly  down, 
To  bid  one  hope  the  while  he  fears, 
Then  sudden  laughter  thro*  thy  tears ; 
May  all  thy  sweethearts  now  take  care, 
And  of  thy  ravishments  beware. 

See  how  the  soft  wind  kisses  thee, 
And  how  the  rough  wind  misses  thee, 

42 


APRIL  43 

And  fruit  trees  blow  and  bend  and  sigh 
When  thy  glad  feet  come  twinkling  by ; 
And  thou  dost  laugh  thro'  sparkling  tears 
And  kisses  fling  at  hopes  and  fears. 

Ah,  May  is  fair,  and  June  is  sweet, 
And  August  comes  with  loitering  feet ; 
July's  the  maid  to  lie  and  dream, 
Beside  some  blue  and  lilied  stream; 
But  April's  sweetheart  never  yet 
Could  her  tear-mingled  smiles  forget. 


MIDWINTER   DREAM 

ID  a  robin  call 
From  the  alder  tall  ? 
Oh,  listen  .  .  .     Hush   .  .  . 
Did  I  hear  a  thrush  ? 
And  the  gray  wood  thro* 
Did  I  catch  the  blue 
Of  a  bluebird's  wing 
As  he  paused  to  sing  ? 
(Or  do  I  dream  ?) 

Hark,  hark  !   Did  I  hear 

From  the  lonely  mere 

That  shrill  note  set 

In  the  flageolet 

Of  the  frog  ?     Did  I  hear, 

Sweet,  fine,  and  clear, 

From  the  meadow  .   .         Hark  ! 


MIDWINTER   DREAM  45 

The  song  of  the  lark  ? 
(Or  do  I  dream  ?) 

And  trembling  and  high 
Did  a  voice  go  by, 
Sweet,  lyrical,  pure, 
With  a  thrill  and  a  lure  ? 
Did  it  rise  and  fall, 
Flutelike,  and  call, 
"  Oh,  waken  and  sing, 
I  am  Spring,  I  am  Spring  !  " 
(Or  do  I  dream  ?) 

And  straight  did  my  heart 
From  its  doubting  start 
To  flower  and  sing 
At  the  will  of  spring  ? 
And  I  —  did  I  steal 
To  the  forest  and  kneel, 
Brow-bent,  on  the  sod 
And  give  thanks  to  God  ? 
(Or  do  I  dream  ?) 


THE  BLUE  SEA  CALLS 

HE  days  grow  long  and  bright, 

Golden  the  sunlight  falls, 
But,  ah,  my  heart !  from  dawn  to  night 
The  blue  sea  calls. 


The  pure  and  nunlike  hills, 
Where  snow  herself  has  trod, 

Thro*  perfumed  air  that  stirs  and  thrills, 
Kneel  up  to  God. 

The  heights,  sublime,  afar, 
Have  held  me  in  their  thrall, 

But  'neath  the  low,  sweet  evening  star 
The  blue  waves  call. 

I  climb  with  trembling  heart, 
Irresolute  and  slow, 
46 


THE   BLUE   SEA   CALLS  47 

For,  ever,  that  far  human  voice, 
Pleads  from  below. 

Oh,  calling  waves,  be  still ! 

Plead  not,  and  let  me  go, 
That  I  may  climb,  like  yonder  hill, 

Up  to  God's  snow. 


AFTER  SUMMER  DAYS 

WEEPS  the  rain  in  a  mist 
Of  rose  and  amethyst, 
Up  from  the  purple  sea, 
Scented  deliciously. 


Trembles  the  wind's  own  lure, 
Pleading,  passionate,  pure, 
Touching  the  brow  and  the  cheek 
With  lips  that  quiver  to  speak. 

Up  from  the  pastures  push 
The  plumes  of  the  steeple-bush, 
To  wave  and  beckon  and  nod 
To  the  beautiful  crimson-rod. 

Comes  the  pale,  delicate  sheen 
Of  the  awakened  green, 
48 


AFTER   SUMMER   DAYS  49 

The  moss  to  the  shaded  nook, 

The  laugh  to  the  throat  of  the  brook. 

Startles  the  emerald  hush 

With  exquisite  notes  the  thrush, 

Liquid,  rapturous,  clear, 

Straight  through  the  sunset  —  hear  ! 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful,  sweet  "  — 
Oh,  hear  the  notes  repeat ! 
"  Beautiful,  beautiful,  sweet, 
Sweet  —  sweet  —  sweet !  " 


LAURELS 

,  tell  me,  Sweet,  where  the  laurels  grow, 

My  heart  is  eager  —  I  long  to  go." 
"  They  grow  on  the  mountain    crest," 

she  said, 

With  trembling  lips  and  drooping  head ; 
"  But  the  thorns  are  deep  and  the  way  is  steep, 
'Twere  better  to  be  content,  love-led." 

But  he  kissed  her  lips  and  he  left  her  there, 
Oh,  he  kissed  her  lips  and  her  golden  hair; 

u  I  will  pluck  the  laurels,"  he  said,  "  my  Sweet, 
And  bring  them  to  lay  at  my  true  love's  feet; " 

So  he  breathed  a  prayer  and  left  her  there, 
And  climbed  the  mountain,  strong  and  fleet. 
50 


LAURELS  51 

And  the  years  fled  by.     With  a  happy  song 
He  gathered  his  laurels,  proud  and  strong ; 

But  when  he  brought  them  to  crown  his  Sweet, 
There  was  only  a  grave  at  his  restless  feetj 

And  he  would  cast  down  his  laurel  crown 
Could  he  kiss  her  heart  to  a  single  beat. 


LOVE-SONG  OF  THE  WANDERER 

;HRIST,  I  have  come,  and  the  way  has  been 

dreary, 
The  stones  of  the  mountain,  the  mire  of 

the  lea, 

My  feet  are  bleeding,  and  I  am  aweary, 
Let  me  come  back  to  thee ! 

Mine  eyes  were  blinded,  and  I  have  been  groping 
Far  thro'  the  darkness  ;  yet  pity  thou  me, 

For  ever  I  have  been  struggling  and  hoping 
For  the  way  back  to  thee. 

Is  it  too  late  ?     The  creeds  they  were  preaching 
Carried  me  on  like  the  waves  of  a  sea ; 

Let  me  come  back  to  thy  pure  simple  teaching, 
Let  me  come  back  to  thee  ! 
5* 


LOVE-SONG   OF  THE   WANDERER          53 

Lo,  at  thy  door  I  am  kneeling  and  pleading, 
Hearken,  O  Christ,  to  my  passionate  plea; 

I  have  come  far,  and  my  heart  is  a-bleeding, 
Let  me  come  back  to  thee  ! 

Let  me  come  in.  I  will  open  thy  casement 
And  sing  to  the  world  of  thy  mercies  that  be ; 

Lift  me,  dear  Christ,  from  my  deep  self-abasement, 
Let  me  come  back  to  thee  ! 

Gone  is  the  darkness  ;  the  dawn's  palest  glimmer 

Flashes  its  beryl  above  the  dim  sea ; 
Ere  the  smooth  waves  in  the  sunlight  shall  shimmer, 

Let  me  come  back  to  thee ! 

All  the  night  long  while  others  were  sleeping, 
No  sleep  or  peace  has  there  been  for  me ; 

I  have  been  kneeling  and  praying  and  weeping, 
Only  to  come  back  to  thee  ! 

Let  me  come  in.     Ah,  the  way  has  been  dreary, 
The  stones  of  the  mountain,  the  mire  of  the  lea ; 

My  heart  is  aching,  and  I  am  aweary, 
Longing  to  be  with  thee  ! 


ANNIE   LISLE 

LL  that  long  day  of  bitter  pain 

The  sun  shone  down  the  hill, 
Above  whose  crest  continually, 

The  clouds  pushed,  white  and  still. 

But  when  the  dove  of  twilight  came, 
With  murmurs  soft  and  deep, 

To  gather  in  her  suffering  ones 
And  brood  them  all  to  sleep, 

Oh,  then  I  dreamed  I  was  a  child 

Upon  my  sister's  breast, 
Without  a  longing  or  desire 

Save  for  that  sheltered  rest. 

Oh,  was  it  but  a  feverish  dream 

Beneath  the  twilight's  wing, 

54 


ANNIE   LISLE  55 

Or  did  I  feel  her  tender  arms, 
And  did  I  hear  her  sing, 

As  in  the  old  and  innocent  years, 

Hovered  by  twilight's  dove, 
She  used  to  sit  and  sing  to  me 

The  plaintive  song  I  love  : 

"  Wave,  willow  ;  murmur,  waters ; 

Gentle  sunbeams,  smile ; 
Earthly  music  cannot  waken 

Lovely  Annie  Lisle." 


THE   NIGHTS   OF  JUNE 

you  see  that  ?  "  said  the  rose 

To  the  moon  ; 

jj    "  No  ;  a  cloud  went  over  my  face 
Too  soon." 


"  What  was  it  you  saw  ?  "  to  the  rose 

Said  the  moon  ; 
(The  night  was  a  night  of  delight  ; 

The  time  —  was  June.) 

The  pink  rose  trembled  and  hung 

Her  head  ; 
"  I  never  could  gossip  of  them," 

She  said. 

"  But  only  watch,"  said  the  rose 
To  the  moon, 
56 


THE   NIGHTS    OF  JUNE  57 

"  When  the  cloud  has  gone  by  !  "...  The  wind 
Hummed  a  tune. 

"  God  bless  the  cloud  !  "  said  the  man 

To  the  maid, 
As  they  paused  alone  by  the  rose 

In  the  shade. 

"  Oh,  hush  —  here's  a  rose,"  cried  the  maid 

To  the  man  ; 
"  It  might  see  and  hear !     Do  you  think 

It  can  ?  " 

(Oh,  the  nights  and  the  dear  delights 

Of  June!) 
"  Did  you  see  that  ?  "  called  the  rose 

To  the  moon. 


AT  MIDNIGHT  MASS 
(Sbt  Kneels) 

ORD,  Lord,  I  cannot  speak  the  prayer 

That  aches  within  my  heart, 
But  oh,  Thou  knowest  the  agony 
From  which  these  large  tears  start ! 


About  me  kneel  the  praying  ones, 

The  fervent,  the  devout; 
Yea,  from  Thy  mercy  and  Thy  love 

I,  only,  am  shut  out ! 

Through  trembling  fingers,  one  by  one, 

The  consecrated  beads 
Slip  slowly,  as  the  passion  mounts 

From  some  poor  heart  that  bleeds. 
58 


AT   MIDNIGHT   MASS  59 

But  since  I  cannot  speak  that  prayer 

So  even  Thou  mayest  hear, 
Lord,  Lord,  wilt  Thou  not  consecrate 

Each  bitter,  falling  tear, 

And  set  it  in  a  rosary 

Of  liquid,  holy  beads, 
So  every  one  that  falls  may  be 

A  passionate  cry  that  pleads  ? 


THE  SWEET,  LOW  SPEECH  OF  THE  RAIN 

T  is  pleasant  to  lie  in  the  gloaming 
When  the  autumn  is  on  the  wane, 

And  the  careful,  rejoicing  reaper 
Has  gathered  and  stared  his  grain, 

And  hear  at  the  doors  and  the  windows 
The  sweet,  low  speech  of  the  rain. 

To  put  by  the  thought  of  the  sailor 
Far  out  on  the  storm-rocked  main, 

Where  the  fierce  waves  leap  and  struggle 
Like  beasts  in  passionate  pain, 

And  lie  by  the  hearth  and  listen 

To  the  sweet,  low  speech  of  the  rain. 

Ah,  May  has  the  burst  of  the  blossom, 

And  the  red  of  the  willow  vein, 
And  the  glad  uplift  of  the  flowers 

That  lead  in  the  fragrant  train ; 
60 


THE  SWEET,  LOW  SPEECH  OF  THE  RAIN     61 

But  nothing  so  dear  as  the  sweet,  low 
Speech  of  the  autumn  rain. 

July  has  the  rose  and  the  purple, 

And  the  sunset's  golden  stain 
On  the  river  that  draws  thro'  the  valley 

A  glittering,  wave-linked  chain ; 
But  never  this  lyrical,  tremulous, 

Sweet,  low  speech  of  the  rain. 

Each  heart  knows  the  joy  of  the  winter, 
The  drift  of  the  snow  on  the  plain, 

The  book  and  the  charm  of  the  fireside, 
The  icicles  fringing  the  pane ; 

But  ah,  for  the  faltering,  pausing, 
Sweet,  low  speech  of  the  rain. 

Old  friends  of  my  heart  come  to-morrow, 
Remembrance,  Regret,  and  Pain, 

But  to-night  I  will  lie  in  the  gloaming 
And  be  lulled  by  the  lure  of  the  rain  — 

By  the  rhythmical,  lyrical,  rhyming, 
Sweet,  low  speech  of  the  rain. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  ONCE  WAS  BLESSED 
OF   THEE 

iS  this  the  house  that  once  was  blessed  of 

thee  ? 

I  know  the  pattern  of  the  papered  walls, 
And  how  this  window  opens  on  the  seaj 
Familiar  is  the  shape  of  rooms  and  halls ; 
The  latches  to  my  touch  yield  readily ; 

I  know  the  gold  that  from  the  sunset  falls 
Athwart  the  sunken  floor ;  and  can  it  be 

I  know  the  bird  of  storm  that  shrilly  calls 
From  yonder  crystal-beaded  wave  ?   ...   Is  this 
The  porch  where,  on  a  perfume-shaken  night, 
We  watched  the  moon  rise,  languorous  and  white, 
Thro'  purple  passion  stars  of  clematis  — 

When  first  I  yielded  to  love's  strong  delight 
And  trembled  to  thy  arms,  thy  breast,  thy  kiss  ? 

62 


HIS   STAR 

HE  ship  swings  out ;  the  Captain  stands 

Straight  and  strong  in  his  place ; 
There  are  glorious  things  to  leave  behind, 

More  glorious  ones  to  face ; 
His  cheek  is  pale,  his  brow  is  calm, 

His  lips  are  close  and  stern  ; 
And  in  his  eyes,  like  beacon  lights, 

The  fires  of  Courage  burn. 


"  Now  Captain,  steer  thou  carefully  - 

Brave  heart  and  steady  hand ; 
Charybdis  sly  and  Scylla  bleak, 

Luring  and  threatening  stand  !  " 
But  answer  makes  he  none;  his  hold 

Is  firm  upon  the  helm, 
And  not  a  sea  that  rocks  the  world 

That  noble  ship  could  whelm. 
63 


64  HIS  STAR 

"  Captain,  beware  the  rocks  !   Beware ! 

Steer  for  the  open  more  !  "   .   .   . 
"  Nay,  Captain,  fierce  the  gale  outside ! 

Run  closer  to  the  shore  !  " 
Still,  still  they  cry  ;  he  answers  not  > 

Heavy  and  dark  the  night ; 
But  lo  !  within  the  troubled  East 

A  star  is  rising  bright. 

"  Captain,  I  know  the  course  !     Trust  me," 

One  pilot  makes  appeal ; 
tc  Nay,  nay,"  another  boldly  cries, 

u  Captain,  give  me  the  wheel !  " 
The  Captain  neither  heeds  nor  hears, 

His  gaze  is  set  afar, 
As  bravely,  calmly,  dauntlessly, 

He  follows  one  white  star. 


"I  AM    SO   SORRY" 

CHILD  came  to  her  father  yesterday, 
Wet-eyed  and  trembling-lipped,  yet  un 
afraid, 
And  pardon  for  some  wrong  deed  sweetly 

prayed. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  low  we  heard  her  say ; 
"  Father,  I  did  not  mean  to  disobey." 

Quickly  the  sorrowful  father  bent  and  smiled, 
And  drew  her  to  his  breast.     Then,  reconciled, 
The  little  girl  went  singing  on  her  way. 
So,  dearest  Father,  I  —  so  old  in  years, 
And  yet  a  child  in  that  I  blindly  do 
Wrong  deeds  that  hurt  and  grieve  you  every  day, 
Come,  unafraid,  yet  trembling  and  in  tears  .   .  . 

"  I  am  so  sorry  I  have  troubled  you, 
Father,  I  did  not  mean  to  disobey." 


THE  TREMBLING   HEART 

LIFT  my  head  and  walk  my  ways 
Before  the  world  without  a  tear, 
And  bravely  unto  those  I  meet 

I  smile  a  message  of  good  cheer ; 
I  give  my  lips  to  laugh  and  song, 

And  somehow  get  me  through  each  day ; 
But  oh,  the  tremble  in  my  heart 
Since  she  has  gone  away  ! 

Her  feet  had  known  the  stinging  thorns, 

Her  eyes  the  blistering  tears ; 
Bent  were  her  shoulders  with  the  weight 

And  sorrow  of  the  years  ; 
The  lines  were  deep  upon  her  brow, 

Her  hair  was  thin  and  gray ; 
And  oh,  the  tremble  in  my  heart 

Since  she  has  gone  away  ! 
66 


THE   TREMBLING   HEART  67 

I  am  not  sorry ;  I  am  glad  j 

I  would  not  have  her  here  again ; 
God  gave  her  strength  life's  bitter  cup 

Unto  the  bitterest  dreg  to  drain ; 
I  will  not  have  less  strength  than  she, 

I  proudly  tread  my  stony  way ; 
But  oh,  the  tremble  in  my  heart 

Since  she  has  gone  away  ! 


DAWN 

>HE  soft-toned  clock  upon  the  stair  chimed 

three  — 
Too   sweet   for  sleep,  too  early  yet  to 

rise  ! 

In  raptured  peace  I  lay  with  half-closed  eyes 
Watching  the  tender  hours  go  silently  j 
The  tide  was  coming  in,  I  heard  the  sea 
Shiver  along  the  beach,  while  yet  the  skies 
Were  faintly  lavender,  as  the  light  that  lies 
Beneath  the  fretwork  of  a  wild  rose  tree 

Within  a  thicket  gray.     The  chanticleer 
Sent  drowsy  calls  across  the  slumberous  air ; 

In  this  half-silence  sweet  it  was  to  hear 
My  own  heart  beat  .  .  .  Then  broad  and  golden-fair, 
Trembling  across  the  mountain  and  the  plain, 
One  radiant  glow  of  dawn  burst  thro'  my  pane. 


68 


THE  MIRROR 

THOUGHT  I  saw  Deception  in   thine 

eyes  ashine ; 
Was  it  but  her  reflection  imaged  deep  from 

mine  ? 


MOTHER'S   PICTURE 

iAUGHING,  a  child,  she  danced  before  it ; 
"  It's    mamma,"    she    shouted,    "  why, 

don't  you  see  ? 
I  thought  you  would  know  the  very  first 

minute  — 
Why,  every  one  says  she  looks  like  me ! " 

Smiling,  a  maiden,  she  stood  before  it; 

u  It's  mamma,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  low ; 
"  The  eyes  and  the  brow,  and  even  the  dimple, 

Are  so  like  mine ;   I  thought  you  would  know." 

Gravely,  a  woman,  she  stood  before  it ; 

"It's  mother,"  she  said,  and  her  words  were  slow; 
"  The  lines  of  care  and  the  eyes  of  sorrow 

Are  like  my  own ;  I  thought  you  would  know." 
70 


MOTHER'S   PICTURE  71 

An  old,  old  woman,  she  stood  before  it, 
Her  step  was  feeble,  her  words  were  low ; 

"  Oh,  mother,"  she  said, u  thou  hast  crossed  the  river, 
Thro'  the  lone  dark  valley  where  I  must  go ; 

Hold  close  my  hand  for  the  way  is  so  lonely ; 
Is  my  soul  like  thine  ?     And  will  they  know  ?  " 


THE   CRY   OF  THE   DROWNED 

AM  dead,  dead, 

Down  under  the  sea  at  rest ! 
I  am  drowned,  drowned, 

The  waves  press  hard  on  my  breast ! 
And  curious  eyes  stare  long  at  me, 
And  all  the  fishes  wonder  at  me, 
And  horrible  things  crawl  over  me, 
Under  the  sea,  dead. 

I  am  dead,  dead, 

And  the  ships  sail  over  my  head ! 
I  am  drowned,  drowned, 

They  sail  over  my  deep,  still  bed  ! 
And  old,  sweet  faces  look  down  at  me, 
And  old,  glad  voices  float  over  me, 
And  loved  hands  ever  beckon  to  me, 

Under  the  sea,  dead  ! 
7* 


THE   CRY   OF  THE   DROWNED  73 

I  am  dead,  dead, 

They  cannot  see  me  that  look ! 
I  am  drowned,  drowned, 

My  life  is  a  closed  book ! 
And  those  above  see  only  the  waves, 
Nor  ever  think  how  each  one  laves 
The  broken  hearts  in  the  lonely  graves, 

Under  the  sea,  dead. 

I  am  dead,  dead, 

But  oh,  this  deathless  soul ! 
Though  I  am  drowned,  drowned, 

It  sees  thro'  the  waves  that  roll, 
The  thoughts  that  no  longer  turn  to  me, 
And  the  lips  that  no  longer  yearn  for  me, 
And  the  hearts  that  no  longer  burn  for  me, 

How  bitter  to  be  dead  ! 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 

>HE  darkest  hour  is  just  before  the  dawn ; 
Turn    from   the  deep,  black  valley  of 

Despair, 

And    see    the    roses    blooming    every 
where, 
In  the  lowliest  spot  as  on  the  nurtured  lawn. 

There,  shuddering  in  the  wood  the  sweet-eyed  fawn, 
Crouching  until  the  storm  has  spent  its  force, 
Then  with  new  courage  leaping  on  its  course  ; 

So,  when  the  darkest  hour  has  passed,  the  dawn  ! 

O  Hope,  thou  shalt  not  die  till  life  be  gone  ! 
For  he  who  fights,  whatever  fate  befall, 
Let  him  be  true,  and  he  will  conquer  all ; 

The  darkest  hour  is  just  before  the  dawn. 


74 


SEPTEMBER 

URPLE  and  gold  and  crimson, 

Lavender,  rose,  and  green, 
With  luminous  rays  of  opal 

Trembling  in  between  ; 
And  gold  dust  sifted  over  all 
From  heaven's  curving  screen. 


75 


THE  LITTLE  CHILD  THAT  WENT  AWAY 

HE  little,  little  child  that  went  away 

From  us  that  loved  him,  us  that  miss 

him  so  — 

God,  fold  him  warmly  in  thy  tender  arms 
These  bitter  nights  beneath  the  snow. 

Years  pass  us  by ;  sometimes  we  half  forget 
The  little  lad  who  went  so  long  ago ; 

But  with  the  first  sob  of  the  winter's  rain, 
And  with  the  first  fall  of  the  snow, 

Oh,  then,  oh,  then  we  bow  ourselves  and  weep, 
The  old  grief  fresh ;  it  seems  but  yesterday 

We  knelt  in  tears  to  kiss  the  little  lad 
Good-by,  and  let  him  go  away. 
76 


THE  LITTLE  CHILD  THAT  WENT  AWAY     77 

The  summer  lures  us ;  lo  !  the  slender  brook 
Winds  thro*  the  valley,  noted  like  a  song ; 

When  trees  are  budding  and  the  flowers  bloom, 
Oh,  then  we  cannot  sorrow  long. 

But  when  the  winter  huddles  from  the  North, 
And  drives  the  sudden  snow  across  the  plain, 

When  long  icicles  fringe  the  eaves,  and  loud 
The  wind  is  moaning  at  the  pane, 

We  look  thro'  tears  across  the  night  and  see 
The  little  grave  so  slender  and  so  low.  .  .  . 

God,  fold  him  warmly  in  thy  tender  arms 
These  bitter  nights  beneath  the  snow. 


REMEMBRANCE 

HE  hours  of  light  grow  longer, 

Briefer  the  hours  of  dusk, 
In  marshes  soon  will  open 

The  green  leaves  of  the  musk, 

The  frog  in  cool  wet  hollows 
His  notes  will  murmur  long, 

The  thrush  thro'  leafing  branches 
Will  pour  his  golden  song. 

The  grass  will  spring  and  freshen 

The  hillside  as  of  old, 
And  all  the  fields  wiH  yellow 

With  dandelion's  gold. 

Yea,  all  the  earth's  rich  places 
To  sweet,  new  joys  will  start ; 

But  oh,  the  bleak  and  barren 
Waste  places  of  the  heart ! 

78 


THE   BAD   DANDELIONS 

MILLION  dandelions 
Came  out  one  April  day, 

And  rambled  up  and  down  the  hill 
To  laugh  and  play. 


They  shook  their  golden  tresses, 
And  flung  their  kisses  free, 

And  flirted  with  the  sun  and  wind 
Outrageously. 

They  were  so  much  admired, 
They  were  so  rich  in  gold, 

They  flaunted  up  and  down  the  hill, 
So  proud  and  bold, 

That  the  envious  swamp-cabbage, 
That  poor  old  "  touch-me-not," 

79 


80  THE   BAD    DANDELIONS 

So  sour  and  discontented  with 
Her  lowly  lot, 

Held  up  a  flaming  candle, 
To  peep  and  watch  and  spy, 

And  all  who  understood  her  speech 
Could  hear  her  cry  :  — 

"  There'll  come  a  retribution, 
'Twill  shock  the  very  town  ; 

Your  pride  will  blow  your  boasted  gold 
To  common  silver  '  down ' !  " 

But  the  saucy  dandelions 
Fled  laughing  up  the  hill, 

And,  it  is  said  in  Flower-Land, 
They're  laughing  still. 


AN  EASTER  LOVE-SONG 
(He  sings) 

EAREST,  it  is  the  Easter-time, 
The  love-time  of  the  year, 
And  every  little  bird  in  rhyme 

Is  telling  far  and  near 
His  passion  to  his  listening  mate  . 
Shall  I  alone,  then,  fear  ? 

Nay  .   .   .  When  the  salmonberry  shows 

Its  crimson,  veiny  bells, 
And  when  the  shadbush  whitely  blows 

In  lonely  forest  dells, 
May  I  not  tell  my  love  in  rhyme, 

As  his  the  robin  tells  ? 

When  up  the  full  veins  of  the  pine 
The  saps  push  lustily, 

G  8l 


82  AN   EASTER   LOVE-SONG 

And  blossoms  star  the  twinflower  vine 

Around  each  mossy  tree, 
And  wandering  silver  seabirds  mate 

In  hollows  of  the  sea; 

When  the  last  fluffy  snowbird  goes 
The  way  that  winter  went, 

And  the  thorn  is  scarlet  on  the  rose, 
And  the  willow's  silver  spent, 

And  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
Is  blown  the  violet's  scent, 

Then  haply  may  I  courage  take, 
By  love  and  hope  made  strong, 

And  pray  thee,  dearest,  to  awake, 
When  the  night  is  sweet  and  long, 

And  whitely  from  thy  casement  lean, 
To  hear  my  trembling  song. 


IN   THE   MARSH 

KNOW  a  dim  marsh  place  where  tules 

grow, 
And   mosses    cling    about    the    water's 

edge; 

The  tremulous  borders  deepen,  sedge  on  sedge, 
And  winds  steal  thro'  them,  murmurous  and  slow ; 
The  dogwood's  winged  blossoms  bend  and  glow 
Like  falling  stars  above  the  luminous  pool  — 
How  soft  they  are  !      How  velvetlike  and  cool ! 
Here  noiseless  serpents,  sliding,  come  and  go, 
Parting  the  grasses  with  a  flash  of  gold. 

The  folded  water  lilies  lie  asleep, 
In  shallow  cradles,  to  the  drowsy  croon 
Of  sensuous  bees.      It  is  the  highest  noon, 

Yet  all  so  still  the  frogs  with  murmurings  deep 
Make  vocal  marsh  and  wood  and  summer  wold. 

83 


OCTOBER 

CTOBER  walks  these  beautiful  days 

In  a  pale,  pale  lavender  gown, 
Slashed  with  the  russet  of  dying  leaves 
And  bordered  with  silver  down. 


Her  head  is  bended,  her  bronzy  hair 
Is  wind-blown  over  her  eyes, 

And  the  mantle  twisted  about  her  brow 
Is  woven  of  rosy  dyes. 

Her  lips  are  sad  with  a  mute  farewell, 
As  she  looks  in  the  eyes  of  the  year, 

As  two  that  love,  yet  meet  to  part 
Without  a  word  or  a  tear. 

She  carries  an  acorn  rosary, 

And  when  each  bead  has  been  kissed, 
She  draws  her  draperies  round  her, 

And  vanishes  thro'  the  mist. 
84 


MIDNIGHT  ON   BROOKLYN   BRIDGE 

H,  me!     I  know  how  large  and  cool  and 

white 
The  moon  lies  on  the  brow  of  Sehome 

Hill, 

And  how  the  firs  stand  shadowy  and  still, 
Etched  on  that  luminous  background  this  soft  night ; 
How  the  nighthawk  sinks  from  his  starry  height, 
And  breathes  his  one  note,  mournfully  and  shrill, 
And  crickets  clamor  in  the  marsh  until 
The  dusk  grows  vocal  with  their  deep  delight. 


City,  a  lifetime  spent  in  thee  were  not 
Worth  one  night  in  my  western  solitude ! 

Thy  pulse  is  feverish,  thy  blood  is  hot, 

Thine  arteries  throb  with  passion  heavily ; 
But  oh,  how  sweet  I  hear,  in  interlude, 

The  beating,  moon-lured  tides  of  Puget  Sea. 

85 


NOVEMBER 

OW  comes  that  marvellous  splendor  of  the 

air 
That  brings  a  sudden  glow  to  languid 

eyes, 

And  that  rich  topaz  flushing  of  the  skies 
That  sets  dull  pulses  thrilling.     Wide  and  bare 
Lie  the  shorn  hop  fields  ;  and  the  pink  mists  loom 
Upon  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  sea, 
Till  touched  with  sunset's  luminous  mystery 
They  seem  far  fields  of  oleander  bloom. 

At  dark  the  Fog  arises,  pale  and  still, 

And  spreads  her  draperies,  glistening  and  white, 
Upon  the  shivering  body  of  the  night, 

But  draws  them  back  at  dawn  about  the  hill ; 
While  pushes  upward  through  the  silver  hush 
The  enraptured  lyric  of  the  sunrise  thrush. 
86 


THE   LITTLE   WAVE-MAIDENS 

little  waves  came  stepping 
And  courtesying  up  the  sand, 
Like  bashful  maidens  holding 
Each  other  by  the  hand. 

They  wore  deep  azure  dresses, 
And  ribbons  in  their  curls, 

And  every  neck  was  circled 
With  tiny,  precious  pearls. 

All  day  they  played  and  chattered, 
With  laughter  sweet  and  low  \ 

But  when  the  sunset  beckoned, 
They  all  made  haste  to  go. 

"  Now  fare-thee-well,  we're  going," 
They  sweetly  called  to  me, 
87 


88  THE   LITTLE   WAVE-MAIDENS 

And  hand  in  hand  went  singing 
Back  to  the  purple  sea. 

But  all  across  the  acres 

Of  tidelands  brown  and  bare, 

They  dropped  the  pale  blue  ribbons 
Out  of  their  wind-blown  hair. 


BURIAL 

SHES  to  ashes  and  dust  to  dust," 

We  laid  our  love  away ; 
For  who  would  keep  a  thing  that  could 
Not  bear  the  light  of  day  ? 


But  when  the  little  grave  was  made, 

And  headed  with  a  stone, 
God  knows  the  tears  that  we  two  shed, 

Each  in  his  heart,  alone. 


89 


A  MOOD 

T  must  be  sweet  to  be  a  dog ; 

To  have  no  longing,  no  desire, 
For  aught  save  food,  the  sun  and  wind, 
The  cheerful  fire. 


To  love  one  master,  serve  him  well ; 

Be  kicked,  abused,  left  bleeding,  sore; 
Then  at  his  call  to  leap  for  joy, 

And  love  him  more  ! 

To  eat  crumbs,  and  be  satisfied ; 

To  lie  and  moan  outside  his  door, 
In  torment  till  he  open  it, 

Then,  love  him  more  ! 

To  tremble  at  his  slightest  frown ; 

To  shiver  for  pardon  at  his  feet ; 
Forgiven,  to  thrill  with  ecstasy ; 

It  must  be  sweet ! 

90 


THE  VISION 

>HE  gay  room  fades  ...  I  see  a  little  child 
Kneel  in  the  purple  gloaming  by  her  bed, 
The  moon's  pale  kisses  trembling  on  her 

head. 

How  pure  she  is,  how  white  and  undefiled  ! 
I  hear  her  breathe,  "  Our  Father,"  soft  and  low ; 
I  see  the  rapt  look  in  her  lifted  eyes ; 
(Ah,  me  !   What  would  the  old  in  creeds  and  wise 
Not  yield  that  raptured  confidence  to  know  ! ) 
"Lead  us  not  into"  .  .  .  u  Hallowed  be  thy  name"  .  .  . 
The  hurt  comes  to  the  throat ;  and  to  the  heart 

The  bitter  ache  for  all  the  wasted  years. 
This  little  kneeling  child,  is  she  the  same 

That  once  I  knew  ?     The  sudden,  blinding  smart 
Springs  to   my  eyes.  .  .  .     The  vision  blurs  in 
tears. 

91 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 

LITTLE  cloud  of  blue  came  out 

And  settled  on  the  sod ; 
And  one  cried,  "  Oh,  forget-me-nots  !  " 

One  bowed  and  murmured,  "  God." 


THE   CALL   IN   THE   DARK 

VOICE  went  by  in  the  dark 

Crying,  "  Follow,  follow  me  !  " 

I  strained  my  eyes,  but  alas  ! 
I  could  not  see. 

But  the  voice  plead  in  the  dark, 
"  Thou  knewest  me  in  thy  youth, 

Hast  thou  forgotten  me  now  ? 
My  name  is  Truth." 


93 


THE   OPAL-SEA 

jREAT  wave  on  wave  of  rosy-misted  gold, 
Outstretched  beneath  an  opalescent  sky, 
Wherein   soft  tints  with  glowing  splen 
dors  vie ; 

From  far  dim  ocean  distances  are  rolled 
Sweet  perfumes  by  the  sea-wind  strong  and  cold ; 
Here  white  sails  gleam  and  light  cloud-shadows  lie, 
And  isles  are  kissed  by  winds  that  wanton  by, 
Or  rocked  by  storms  in  unchecked  passion  bold. 

Locked  in  by  swelling,  fir-clad  hills  it  lies 
One  sweep  of  undulating  gold  j  serene, 

It  shines  and  reaches  under  sunset  skies ; 

The  chaste  Olympics  pearl  the  space  between 

Till,  burning  in  that  splendid  fire,  they  make 

Fit  setting  for  this  peerless  ocean-lake. 

94 


THANKSGIVING 

HAT  does  this  woman  thank  God  for  ? " 

The  other  women  said, 
Looking  on  one  who  knelt  apart 
With  lifted  head. 


u  What  is  this  marvellous  ecstasy 

That  shines  within  her  eyes  ? 
Has  she  more  rapturous  joy  than  we  ? 

Is  she  more  wise  ?  " 

The  woman  heeded  not  j  she  kissed 

The  beads  of  her  rosary ; 
And  last  she  kissed  the  cross,  and  said, 

"  God,  I  thank  Thee  ! 

"  None  knoweth  why  I  thank  Thee,  God, 
Save  Thou  —  Thou  who  art  wise  !  "   .   . 

The  light  grew  on  her  face ;  she  smiled 
Into  God's  eyes. 

95 


RICHES 

HE  far  sweet  rosy  distances, 

The  snow  peaks  lone  and  high, 
The  sweep  of  softer  hill,  the  firs 
That  climb  and  touch  the  sky ; 

The  rippling  laughter  of  a  brook, 

A  flower-scented  rain, 
A  drench  of  liquid  gold  let  loose 

At  sunset  on  my  pane  ; 

The  purple  splendor  of  the  night 

Wherein  Orion's  three 
Flash  constant  messages  ;  the  frog 

That  murmurs  to  the  lea ; 

The  wash  of  waves,  the  song  of  birds, 

The  red  fall  of  a  star, 
The  pale  green  mist  upon  the  sea, — 

These  all  my  riches  are. 
96 


UP,  MY  HEART,  AND  SING 

HE  dark,  dark  night  is  gone, 
The  lark  is  on  the  wing, 
From  bleak  and  barren  fields  he  soars, 
Eternal  hope  to  sing. 


And  shall  I  be  less  brave 

Than  yon  sweet  lyric  thing  ? 

From  deeps  of  failure  and  despair, 
Up,  up,  my  heart,  and  sing ! 

The  dark,  dark  year  is  gone ; 

The  red  blood  of  the  spring 
Will  quicken  Nature's  pulses  soon, 

So  up,  my  heart,  and  sing ! 


97 


A  THRENODY 

HE  golden  days  are  waning, 
And  far  away  the  skies  are  gray, 
To-morrow  it  may  be  raining. 
)  bird  in  the  alder  /) 


The  night  comes  soon  and  dreary ; 
Above  the  town  the  hills  are  brown, 
And  the  heart  is  lone  and  weary. 
(Singj  bird  in  the  alder  /) 

Ah,  me,  but  the  hours  are  lonely  ! 
I  bow  and  weep  .  .   .  Awake,  asleep, 
I  want  thee  and  thee  only. 
)  bird  in  the  alder  /) 


98 


THE   FOG   HORNS 

(He  speaks) 

HE  fog  broods  on  the  city  white  and  chill, 

Its  tiny  needles  stinging  keen  like  hail ; 
Across  the  sea,  beyond  the  barren  hill, 
Continually  the  fog  horns  shrill  and  wail. 


A  tree  climbs  like  a  ghost  from  out  the  gloom, 
Groping  for  sunlight  with  bare,  skeleton  hands ; 

And  underneath,  the  fires  of  death  and  doom 
Within  her  eyes,  a  gray-faced  woman  stands. 

O  my  beloved  !  in  this  strange,  north  place 
Rush  back  old  days  that  are  forever  new ! 

These  shrill  fog  horns  and  this  poor,  haggard  face 
Remind  by  contrast  of  the  June  and  you. 


99 


LOVE,  THE   FIREFLY 

TILL,  still  I  see  the  fireflies 

Wandering  thro'  the  dusk, 
And  the  music  falls  about  us, 
Like  petals  of  rich  musk. 

"  Ah,  love  is  but  a  firefly," 
The  voice  of  the  viol  plead  ; 

"  A  scarlet,  wandering  firefly, 
By  every  fancy  led." 


100 


"THE   PALE   GREEN   ALDER-WAY" 

H,  May  comes  merrily  o'er  the  hill 
And  passes  with  twinkling  feet, 
With  invitation  in  beck  and  glance, 

And  lure  in  her  laughter  sweet ; 
But  I  look  down  the  pale  green  alder-way, 
And  "  He  never  will  come  again,"  I  say. 

At  morn  the  red-vested  robin  calls 
His  love  to  his  shy  brown  mate, 

And  half  forgetting,  I  thrill  to  hear 
The  speech  of  the  little  gate ; 

Then  I  look  down  the  pale  green  alder-way, 

And  "  He  never  will  come  again,"  I  say. 

And  when  the  hush  of  the  golden  noon 
Swims  up  to  the  deep  blue  sky, 

101 


"THE   PALE   GREEN   ALDER-WAY" 

My  poor  heart  leaps  with  the  old  delight 

If  only  a  step  comes  nigh  ; 
But  I  look  down  the  pale  green  alder-way, 
And  "  He  never  will  come  again,"  I  say. 

When  evening  purples  the  distant  hills, 

And  none  but  the  stars  may  see, 
I  kneel  me  here,  while  the  hours  go  by, 

Slowly  and  silently, 

And  "  Ah,  up  the  pale  green  alder-way 
If  he  only  might  come  again  !  "  I  pray. 

O  pipes  of  summer  and  flutes  of  spring  ! 

O  bird  and  blossom  and  brook ! 
My  heart  responds  to  thy  lure  and  call, 

Then  sadly  I  turn  and  look 
Down  the  path  where  the  pale  green  alders  grow, 
For  he  never  will  come  again,  I  know. 


BETROTHAL 

ONG  had  we  pleasant  comrades  been, 

And  loved  each  other  well  5 
Yet  never  had  a  traitor  glance 
The  secret  dared  to  tell. 


And  when  that  first  sweet  night  we  stood  — 
That  rose-sweet  night  in  June  — 

Alone,  and  watched  the  herald  clouds 
Outride  the  languid  moon, 

Yea,  even  then  we  did  not  guess, 

But  stood  entranced,  apart, 
Until  the  silence  suddenly 

Beat  with  God's  mighty  heart. 

And  then  —  we  know  not  how  it  was  — 

We  trembled,  each  to  each, 
And  kissed,  .  .  .  and  all  our  pulses  thrilled 

Too  holily  for  speech. 
103 


THE  CHILDLESS   MOTHER'S   LULLABY 

many's  the  time  in  the  evening 
When  the  light  has  fled  over  the  sea, 
That  I  dream  alone  in  the  gloaming 
Of  the  joys  that  are  not  for  me ; 
And  oft  in  my  sorrowful  bosom 

Swells  up  the  mother-love  flame, 
And  I  clasp  with  arms  that  are  trembling 

My  child  that  never  came; 

Singing,  —  "  Hush  thee  —  bush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  dar 
ling, 

Nestle  thee  deeper  in  mother's  breast, 
Oh,  hush  thee — hush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  darling, 
Tender est  angels  will  guard  thy  rest" 

The  candles  far  down  in  the  city 

Shine  out  thro'  the  purplish  gray, 
And  the  stars  come  out  in  the  heavens 

And  glimmer  across  the  bay; 
104 


THE  CHILDLESS  MOTHER'S  LULLABY     105 

The  murmuring  waves  steal  homeward 

From  the  ocean's  larger  blue, 
As  I  dream  alone  in  the  gloaming 

Of  the  child  that  I  never  knew ; 

Singing,  —  "  Hush  thee  —  bush  thee  —  husb-a-by,  dar 
ling, 

Nestle  thee  deeper  in  mother's  breast, 
Oh,  hush  thee  —  hush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  darling, 

Tenderest  angels  will  guard  thy  rest." 

Oh,  the  little  warm  cheek  in  my  bosom, 

Oh,  the  little  wet  lips  at  the  breast, 
Oh,  the  clinging,  wee,  satiny  fingers 

To  my  longing  lips  that  are  pressed  ! 
There  was  never  a  song  that  was  sweeter, 

Tho*  its  singer  be  laurelled  with  fame, 
Than  the  song  that  I  sing  in  the  gloaming 

To  the  child  that  never  came : 
cc  Oh,  hush  thee  —  hush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  darling, 

Nestle  thee  deeper  in  mother's  breast, 
Oh,  hush  thee  —  hush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  darling, 

Tenderest  angels  will  guard  thy  rest." 


io6     THE  CHILDLESS  MOTHER'S  LULLABY 

The  hours  swim  on  to  the  midnight, 

The  moon  looks  over  the  hill, 
And  the  u-lu-lu  of  the  night  owl 

Sinks  mournfully  and  shrill; 
The  solitude  aches  with  rapture, 

And  my  heart  with  the  mother-love  flame, 
As  I  sing  alone  in  the  gloaming 

To  the  child  that  never  came : 
cc  Ob)  hush  thee  —  hush  thee  —  hush-a-by,  darling^ 

Nestle  thee  deeper  in  mother's  breast, 
Oh^  hush  thee  —  hush  thee  —  hush-a-by^  darling^ 

Tender  est  angels  will  guard  thy  rest." 


BLOOM-TIME 

HE  silver  buds  are  on  the  fir, 
The  sweet  is  on  the  balm, 
The  orchards  blossom  white  and  slow, 

And  thro'  the  scented  calm 
The  wild  thrush-poet  lifts  to  God 
His  pure  and  lyric  psalm. 

The  dogwood  hangs  her  velvet  stars 

The  alder  deeps  within, 
A  brook  draws  down  the  forest  ways 

Its  laughter,  sweet  and  thin, 
And  woodland  minstrels  blithely  play 

Flute,  pipe,  and  violin. 

It  is  the  perfect  blossom  time, 
The  bloom  of  heart  and  year, 

The  earth  aches  with  its  rapture  song, 
The  wind-bells  sweet  and  clear 

Ring  one  low  word  that  every  heart 
Throbs  full  and  strong  to  hear. 
107 


JUNE  RAIN 

iUNE, 

And  a  new  moon 

Flying  the  west,  like  a  golden  dove, 
Thro'  the  clouds  that  swim, 
Wraithlike  and  dim, 

The  sleeping  amethyst  sea  above ; 
The  deep  red  rose 
Thro'  the  dusk  that  glows, 

With  tremulous  petals  wide  outspread, 
And  shakes  perfume 
Thro'  the  unlit  room, 

Where  Sorrow  sits  with  drooping  head  ; 
The  pale  soft  kiss 
Of  the  clematis 

On  the  pane  .   .  .     Later,  the  rain  ; 
Musical,  light, 

108 


JUNE    RAIN  109 

Thro'  the  long,  sweet  night, 

The  sorrow-hushing  rain  ! 
Oh,  heart  that  aches, 
And  heart  that  breaks, 

And  heart  that  is  torn  with  wild  regret, 
Take  cheer  again 
In  thy  bitter  pain, 

There  is  hope  for  the  sorriest  hearted  yet; 
While  speaks  the  rain 
At  the  door  and  pane, 

And  to  passionate  plaining  murmurs,  —  "  Hush ! " 
While  its  soft  notes  sigh 
Like  a  lullaby 

"  Hush  thee,  hush  thee  —  hush  —  hush  !  " 


THE  SAILOR'S  SWEETHEART 


WEE  THEAR  T,  Sweetheart,  Sweetheart ! ' 

Calleth  the  meadow-lark 
Thro*  the  rose  of  dawn  to  me 
Dreaming  beside  the  sea ; 

Oh,  listen  —  oh,  hark! 
How  joyously,  liquidly  clear 
Over  the  meadows,  I  hear, — 

"  Sweetheart^  Sweetheart,  Sweetheart !  ' 


And  I  think  of  my  dearest  across  the  sea, 
The  blue,  blue  sea  that  holds  us  apart ; 

It  is  his  own  voice  that  calls  to  me 
In  the  voice  of  the  lark,  — 

"  Sweetheart,  Sweetheart !  " 

"  Sadheart,  Sadheart,  Sadheart !  " 
Calleth  the  meadow-lark 


THE   SAILOR'S   SWEETHEART  in 

Thro'  the  gray  of  dawn  to  me 
Grieving  beside  the  sea ; 

Oh,  listen  —  oh,  hark  ! 
How  tenderly,  mournfully  clear, 
Over  the  meadows,  I  hear, — 

"  Sadkeart,  Sadheart^  Sadkeart !  " 

And  I  think  of  my  dearest  beneath  the  sea, 
The  sea  that  holds  us  forever  apart ; 

It  is  his  own  voice  that  grieves  to  me 
In  the  voice  of  the  lark,  — 

"  Sadheart^  Sadheart !  " 


THE   STILL   WILLAMETTE   RIVER 

H,  would  that  we  might  hear  again 
The  balm  leaves  faintly  shiver, 
As  on  that  night  we  drifted  down 

The  still  Willamette  River ! 
The  lilies  rocked  upon  the  waves, 
The  fragrant  trees  leaned  over, 
The  happy  winds  blew  sweet,  blew  low, 
Along  the  banks  of  clover. 

The  river  moved  as  if  asleep, 

The  stars  slipped  down  and  sparkled 
About  us,  while  our  idle  oars 

Scarce  touched  the  waves  that  darkled ; 
The  fireflies  upon  the  bank 

Set  all  their  lamps  a-glowing, 
And  when  we  passed  a  dogwood  tree, 

Its  pale  soft  blooms  were  snowing. 


THE   STILL   WILLAMETTE    RIVER        113 

Those  scented  flakes  of  summer  snow 

Fell  to  the  cool  dark  water, 
The  while  a  thrush  sang  clear  and  low 

Love  notes  her  mate  had  taught  her ; 
In  far-off  marshy  fields  we  heard 

The  crickets  shrilly  fluting, 
And  on  the  narrow  bending  reeds 

The  low-lipped  waters  luting. 

Ah,  then,  we  almost  heard  the  sea, 

We  felt  its  restless  beating, 
And  oh,  your  tender  eyes  grew  sad 

With  every  moment  fleeting; 
Into  the  sky  we  saw  one  flush 

Of  crimson  dawnlight  quiver, 
The  last  star  fell  to  fade  and  die 

In  the  Willamette  River. 

Ah,  would  that  we  might  hear  again 

The  balm  leaves  faintly  shiver, 
Where,  glimmering,  darkling,  to  the  sea, 

The  waves  flow  on  forever; 


U4       THE   STILL   WILLAMETTE   RIVER 

And  would  that  we  might  drift  to-night 
Where  bright  stars  fall  and  quiver, 

And  folded  lilies  lie  asleep 
On  the  Willamette  River. 


THE  WATCHWORD   OF   THE   STARS 


IGHT  —  and  the  cool  soft  air 

And  the  murmurous  sleep  of  the  sea 
And  moving  up  the  purple  East 
Orion's  splendid  three. 


Night  —  and  the  silentness, 
And  the  shadow-brooding  lea ; 

And  moving  thro'  the  mellow  South 
Orion's  constant  three. 

Night  —  and  the  loneliness, 

And  the  eyes  that  wake  and  weep 

But  calm  and  patient  in  the  West 
The  stars  that  never  sleep. 

What  is  your  watchword,  stars  ? 

Tell  me,  Orion's  three  ! 
What  is  your  message  ?  .  .  .     Love, 

Patience  and  Constancy  ? 
"5 


ADORATION 

[PRING  up  the  East,  O  sun, 
O  mist,  forsake  the  sea ! 
Shine,  fir  trees,  every  one, 
With  sudden  radiancy  ! 
Ye  meadow-larks,  sing  clear, 
Across  the  rippled  mere, 

And  thro'  thy  golden-noted  song  shake  all  thin< 
ecstasy. 

Break,  clouds,  and  whitely  drift, 
Blow,  shadbush,  by  the  creek ; 
Wild  currant  blossom,  lift 

Thy  soft  and  crimson  cheek ; 
In  places  dark  and  damp, 
Oh,  light  thy  yellow  lamp, 

Thou   faithful   dandelion,  like   a   virgin  pure  anc 
meek. 

ill 


ADORATION  117 

Leap  down  thy  pebbly  bed, 

Thou  wild,  sweet,  singing  stream ; 
Pale  lily,  rear  thy  head 

From  adoration's  dream, 
And  in  thy  perfect  cup 
Burn  all  thy  perfume  up, 

And    lift    its    incense    unto    God    in    ravishment 
supreme. 

The  long,  dark  night  is  gone; 

Awake,  O  Earth,  awake  ! 
Behold  the  splendid  dawn 

Above  the  mountains  break. 
The  golds  and  crimsons  run, 
Like  heralds  of  the  sun, 

To  blow  long  bugle-rays  of  light  to  valley,  sea,  and 
lake. 

Yea,  forest,  hill,  and  sea, 

With  rapturous  passion  ring; 
Then,  oh,  thou  soul  of  me, 

Awake,  arise,  and  sing ! 


n8  ADORATION 

These  notes  the  larks  upraise 
Mount  clear  and  high  in  praise  ; 

Then,  oh,  my  soul,  awake  and  soar  to  heaven's 
gate  and  sing ! 


THE  LADY  OF  POPPIES 

EAR  Lady  of  Poppies,  take  my  hand, 

And  lead  me  down  to  the  Opal  Sea, 
Where  lolls  a  boat  on  the  languid  tide, 
The  lifting,  lilting,  loitering  tide, 
Waiting  for  thee  and  me. 


Dear  Lady  of  Poppies,  loose  the  sail, 

Our  course  to  the  purple  West  is  set, 
And  we  are  off  for  the  beautiful  isle, 
The  dreamy,  mystical,  marvellous  isle, 
Where  the  sorrowful  go  to  forget. 

Dear  Lady  of  Poppies,  the  wind  is  fair, 

The  beryl  water  is  cool  and  deep, 
And  this  boat  that  silverly  rises  and  falls, 
That  rocks  and  trembles  and  lifts  and  falls, 
Surely  its  name  is  Sleep  ! 
119 


izo  THE   LADY   OF   POPPIES 

And  far  away,  thro'  the  purple  mist, 

The  pearly  shore  of  an  island  gleams, 
Of  an  island  kissed  by  the  lips  of  the  sea, 
By  the  cool,  soft,  pleading  lips  of  the  sea, 
The  mystical  island  of  Dreams. 


UNDAUNTED 

'HERE    is  a  wind    comes  at  the  midnight 

hour 
Down  this  bleak    canyon  deep   within 

the  hills, 

So  wild,  so  weird,  so  strong,  it  stirs  and  thrills 
My  soul,  till  it  is  like  a  shaken  flower, 
Close-nunneried  in  some  dim  old  forest  bower, 
That  pulls  at  its  earth-roots  to  leap  and  go 
Out  on  the  mighty  air-tide's  ebb  and  flow  — 
What  time  the  heavy  rain  clouds  darkling  lower. 

Ah,  to  ride  out  on  such  a  wind  as  this, 

Gripped  to  Death's  breast,  upon  his  pallid  steed, 

Without  an  instant's  warning  or  farewelH 
To  press  his  lips  in  one  long  dauntless  kiss, 
And  shudder  not  in  any  coward  creed, 

But  face  what  I  deserve,  be  it  heaven  or  hell. 


121 


"  One  of  the  best  Western  novels  ever  published." 

—  Newsletter,  San  Francisco. 


MARIELLA,  OF  OUT=WEST 

By  Mrs.  ELLA   HIGGINSON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  From  the  Land  of  the  Saow  Pearls  " 

"A  Forest  Orchid  and  Other  Stories" 

"  When  the  Birds  go  North  Again  " 

1  The  picture  is  clear,  well  balanced,  and  informing,  and.  best  of  all, 
the  story  is  at  all  times  the  prime  affair,  and  .  .  .  becomes  more 
condensed,  pungent,  and  direct,  and  in  every  way  more  absorbing 
and  vital."  —  Boston  Herald. 

'One  of  the  strongest  of  recent  American  novels."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

'An  extraordinarily  vivid  and  forceful  piece  of  work." 

—  Seattle  Post-Intelligencer. 

'  It  is  told  with  such  grim  fidelity  that  at  times  it  fairly  clutches  the 
heart.  .  .  .  The  story  while  touching  is  never  depressing." 

—  Cleveland  Leader. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


By  Mrs.  Ella  Higginson 


FICTION 
flARIELLA,  OF    OUT-WEST 

"  One  of  the  very  best  examples  of  the  new  literature  that  is  comin 
out  of  the  West.  .  .  .  This  story  of  life  on  the  borders  of  Pug 
Sound  has  depth,  variety,  keen  intelligence,  and  distinction.  .  . 
As  the  story  proceeds,  it  increases  in  interest,  but  it  increas< 
very  much  more  in  power." —  The  Boston  Herald. 

FROM  THE  LAND  OF  THE  SNOW  PEARL' 

"  Mrs.  Higginson's  stories  are  wonderfully  compact,  and  each  has 
strong,  single  situation.  .  .  .  There  is  a  freshness  of  feelin 
about  them  and  a  vividness  of  style  which  give  them  reality." 

—  The  Outlook,  New  York. 

A   FOREST  ORCHID   AND   OTHER  STORIES 

"  Her  touch  is  firm  and  clear ;  what  she  sees  she  sees  vividly,  an 
describes  in  direct,  sincere  English  ;  of  what  she  feels  she  ca 
give  an  equally  lucid  report."—  The  Tribune,  New  York. 

POEMS 

WHEN   THE   BIRDS   GO   NORTH   AGAIN 

"  The  poetry  of  the  volume  is  good,  and  its  rare  setting,  amid  th 
scenes  and  under  the  light  of  a  sunset  land,  will  constitute  a: 
attractive  charm  to  many  readers."  —  The  Boston  Transcript. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH    AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


YC158942 


